Soul Shards
by AnonymousBystander
Summary: A treacherous Warlock addicted to siphoning souls with a curse hanging over his head, his companion who barely recogises him anymore and his teacher... who has made a mistake that may cost them all their lives. Nefarian is not happy... someone must pay.
1. Cursed

I don't own Warcraft, heck I don't even own Warrick, Bala, Garrimar, Telia, T'larc and Thorian... so feel free to create them on WoW if you want. Nefarian is, I believe, already taken though ;P lol

Tried to do my research; if I got something wrong, msg me and will change immediately. I want it to be as correct as possible (i.e. the colour of a Shadow Bolt. Greeny-purple if I remember correctly. It is 1:30am in the morning though so my memory might be a little off.)

I might remind people that because I'm speed-writing this, it counts as still being in editing stages. Suggestions are VERY appreciated.

* * *

Killing was his business… and business was good. 

The Night Elf from the top of the massive stone staircase tumbled, rolling until he came to a rest at Warrick's feet. The Warlock eyed the dead Priest with disgust and let the last greenish light of a Shadowbolt throb and die in his palm. He took a moment to relieve the dead Elf of his purse and continued up the staircase from which he'd been momentarily interrupted.

The tower around him was a lavish one. Embroidered curtains filtered the approaching light of sunset from the windows and richly decorated furniture lay either side of the sandstone hallway. Warrick paid no attention to them however; his attention turned to the sounds of yet another fight happening in a room further ahead.

Small explosions, shouts and the hum of magic echoed down the hallway. There was a loud 'whoosh' and another Priest was thrown from the room, out of the entrance and hit the wall of the hallway opposite with a sick 'thud'. Struggling to get to his feet, the young Elf looked up to see the Warlock standing over him menacingly.

Warrick smiled; his pale skin stretching perilously over his sharp cheekbones, and he tapped his staff on the floor twice, making two sharp bangs before he swept it around and sent the Priest flying back into the room with a thunderous smack to the torso.

The battered Elf groaned and shifted on the floor, his hands pulsing with a greenish light as he tried to Flash Heal.

Booted heels suddenly crushed down on his arms, breaking his concentration – and both his wrists – with a cry. The woman lent down slowly, still trapping his arms and letting her lips brush his ear softly.

"Have you seen Death?" She breathed, golden yellow eyes glinting in the late afternoon light. The Elf – barely 100 summers old – groggily opened his eyes and saw Warrick playing with a green light in his hands. The light flicked from one hand to the other like a stream of lightning, casting a sick green glow over Warrick's drawn face.

His heart shuddered, seeing the light in the Warlock's hands, yet he snarled;

"I do not fear death, traitor!"

"Good." Warrick grinned, "Then you won't squirm as much."

He cast the light like a line, letting it catch on the young Elf's soul… and pulled. The Elf screamed and thrashed, feeling his soul tear from his bones inch by painful inch. The woman above him refused to budge though, keeping him still as Warrick tore the soul from the Night Elf's body. After a few moments however, she turned away; looking instead at the mask of ecstasy on Warrick's face rather than the one of hideous pain on the Priest's.

The Elf suddenly stilled; the green line that had drained his soul snapped back to its master and he stumbled, leaning against the stone wall for support. A tiny purple gem slipped from his grasp and the woman spun and leapt in an instant – catching the precious Soul Shard before it was shattered on the hard floor.

Warrick shook his head, purplish lights dancing before his eyes. He saw the woman with her slender fingers around the Soul Shard and snarled, lifting her with one hand around her neck like a rag doll and slamming her against the wall – his teeth bared like a beast.

She made no move to stop him – she couldn't.

Wincing with the impact of the stones on her back, she opened her palm slowly. Warrick's eyes glimmered for a second and the purple haze that had clouded them dissipated. He took the shard from her and slipped it into a bag he wore on the hip of his robe.

"My apologies Bala… I…" He stopped, eyes avoiding her and lingering on the rest of the room. He could feel the piteous gaze she was giving him, golden eyes cast down at him in disapproval. He let his hand slide down her bare shoulder and fall to his side. He finally looked back; the woman with wild long black hair and golden eyes eyed him accusingly.

"You said you could control it."

The Warlock felt the stirrings of anger in his stomach.

"… and I will." He growled testily.

"So until then you take this out on myself?"

"Until then you will hold your tongue!" Warrick snapped. Bala clenched her jaw tightly, but said nothing – her cat-like eyes shooting daggers into his own dark browns.

"We must keep moving. His screams may have alerted the others." Warrick muttered as he turned and left the room. Bala followed not far behind him; yellowish flames escaping to dance across her fingers as she attempted to keep her temper, leaving the Elf Priest on the floor - as cold as the stone he lay on.

* * *

"Are you losing your stomach for death, Bala?" 

Bala stared across the flames of the fire between them at the Warlock. Warrick was grinning impishly as he tore a chunk off a stag tenderloin and tossed it in her direction. She caught it deftly but remained silent, taking a bite from it savagely.

The silence in the night enveloped them; not even the howl of a Wolf or disgruntled chatter of a Murlock to disturb it save the crackle and pop of the fire. The tower they had cleared that evening rose up from the hill behind them, dwarving them at its foot.

"So silent… I'd forgotten what it was like to hear silence."

Bala paused, spitting a bone into the fire with a hiss and eyeing him distastefully. He had changed – a young man once so handsome and passionate for the Alliance Cause...

She closed her eyes and tried to remember. The pale, gaunt man before her was no longer the Warrick that she had met so long ago. His once deeply tanned skin was thin, stretched and pale over his bones – his face drawn and gaunt, eyes dark and brooding… except when the Hunger came over him. His weapon skills had also suffered with his increased aptitude with magic. His solid muscles, knotted hard yet tender at the same time had withered with disuse. It had been so long since he had touched her the way he used to…

Power was all he craved now.

The malicious taunting was a new development lately. He was short of temper, obsessed with uprooting souls from mortal bodies. At any moment now the Undead legion that was following them would arrive. They had been sent ahead to clear the tower on purpose – the Horde knew how to exploit ones weaknesses to their own ends and so had been able to predict Warricks eagerness to obtain more Soul Shards by clearing the tower.

The light sound of crystal ringing against crystal captured Balas attention. Warrick was standing, counting the Soul Shards in his fingers and turning them softly. Rounding the fire, Bala approached to look closer. She had little idea of how many innocents they had killed to obtain them.

"What are you using them for?" She whispered sweetly.

"Using what for?" He asked innocently, closing his palm and dropping the stones into his robe pocket. Bala felt her temper stir.

"Don't play coy, Warrick. You're collecting souls for something."

"Indeed I am."

"Somehow I doubt it's for the Cause."

"I doubt it too."

"Do you enjoy being a traitor to your own kind?"

"Do you enjoy being a slave?"

Bala's temper flared and she slammed a taloned hand against the stone wall right of the Warlocks head.

"I am no-one's slave. Least of all yours." She hissed, teeth lengthening in her mouth as she spoke... then receding as she curbed her temper once more. As her clawed hands twisted and shaped back to fingers the Warlock smiled twistedly and placed a lingering kiss on her temple. His lips brushed her skin softly as he spoke,

"As good as…"

Bala snarled and whirled away, fading into the shadows of the night. Warricks eyes lingered after her for a moment then he resumed counting his Soul Shards, eyes glimmering purple in the firelight.

* * *

I'm writing this at this very moment. It WILL be finished in an hour. PROMISE xxx 


	2. One More Soul

Storming through the forest, Bala was halted when she discovered a river of swiftly running water, feeling the tie between herself and Warrick stretched perilously. She considered for a moment, leaving him to liaison with the Undead warriors on his own and walk as far away as she could, fading more and more with every step from him. She laughed coldly; thoughts of suicide came to those who were losing battles... she was not losing. Yet.

A sudden crack of dry bush caused her to whirl on a heel and send a bolt of fire thundering into an unfortunate skeletal warrior. The Warlock beside him - half rotted and surrounded with the stench of decay - grinned with blackened teeth; dead skin tearing with the effort. He let out a wheezing laugh, air escaping from the rotted holes in his chest beside his throat.

"That was singularly the funniest thing I have encountered all day." He rattled. Bala sneered at the Undead,

"Hilarious."

"Where is your master?"

"I have no master." Bala looked back down at the running water; her reflection in the river distorted and bubbled.

"Then Warrick is dead?"

"Warrick is camped by a fire at the foot of your precious tower."

The Warlocks mouth opened slightly as if to say something then he smiled with realisation at the woman's back. Nodding slightly, he creaked away using his wooden staff as support as he walked. The company of Undead Warriors followed him obediently, paying their smoking and moaning colleague no attention as they marched towards the tower rising from the forest.

Bala closed her eyes and let herself drift, a sharp tug pulling her from her feet in the darkness toward Warrick. When she opened them again, she was standing by his side once more. He looked up - distracted from the scarlet-bound book of skill he was reading.

"What now?"

"Horde." She inclined her head towards the approaching footfalls of Undead foot-soldiers. Warrick smiled and snapped the book shut, banishing it to his pack with a thought and stood. He stretched stiffly as a rotting corpse emerged from the trees.

The Undead Warlock from the river saw Bala and grinned widely once more.

"If we all traveled as swiftly as you, my dear, then we would have won this war."

"If you all traveled as swiftly as me," Bala replied coldly, "You would not be in this war."

He laughed,

"Indeed." Turning to Warrick he pointed his staff at the dark tower behind them, "It is empty?"

"All save for the one you wanted." Warrick jerked his head to it's topmost room, where a candle light flickered through the window, "The Shadow Priest had barricaded himself in his room in fright."

"Or strategy." The Warlock said grimly, taking a seat fireside.

"Where are your Acolytes, Garrimar?" Warrick asked, noting the absence of soldiers that usually traveled with the old warlock.

"Here… or more appropriately; not here." Garrimar flicked his patchworked hand nonchalantly into the darkness. Bala spotted a bleached head pass above a small bush and disappear behind a tree a short while away.

"They're patrolling?"

"Indeed they are, Bala."

"Where is Teleia?" Warrick asked suddenly. Bala felt a stab of jealousy at the name of the Undeads Succubus. Garrimar shrugged,

"I felt no need for her here, given that all danger would have been disposed of by you and Bala. I brought T'larc."

Almost on cue, a tiny creature the size of a cat pounced from the darkness at Bala, chittering away in mindless babble. Bala caught it mid-air by the tale and let it dangle from her hand as it giggled manically.

"T'larc," Garrimar sighed, "What have I told you about speaking common tongue?"

"That it is beyond my tiny brain?" The Imp rasped. Bala raised an eyebrow,

"Lo and behold. The pest speaks."

The Imp grinned up at her twistedly and wrapped long fingers around her wrist,

"Only for you, my beautiful."

Bala snarled and threw him from her wrist. He tumbled through the air and landed nimbly on his feet with a little skip and a bow.

"Go get trodden on!" She spat.

"I hear words from your illustrious throat, lady, yet I'm still to determine the code you give me." He looked up at her and blinked huge red eyes.

"It is not code, bug."

"Alas again I miss your true message." The Imp clasped a hand to his heart.

"On matters other than T'larc's heart," Garrimar cleared his throat and stood, summoning a long staff from the air before him, "I believe you were promised this in your quest."

Warrick's eyes glittered when they set upon the staff,

"Nafarian surrendered it?" Garrimar half-smiled as he handed the golden staff to Warrick.

"You could say that." He muttered.

The Staff of the Shadow Flame was taller than Warrick by a good two feet; a snarling dragon at its top with horns curling upwards, its base had four spines curving outwards mimicking the tail of the Child of Deathwing himself. Bala eyed the staff. It throbbed with a black light that repulsed her.

"You stole it." She whispered. Garrimar winced,

"Stole is such a strong word…"

"You stole from Nefarian?" She demanded, "Do you have an Undeath-wish? You _know_ he will send someone after it, he may even come himself!"

"Details." Garrimar shrugged and looked at Warrick pointedly, "By which time – if he does choose to pursue the staff – you will have created your Soul Stone. Now come," He ushered the human to him and rose to his feet, "We have much to discuss if we are to take the tower." T'larc chattered and skipped, following his master and Warrick as they entered the huge doors of the tower.

Bala frowned after their backs. Warrick was creating a Soul Stone? Had his lust for power extended to immortality now? Clenching her jaw, she followed them; hearing the soft footfalls of the Acolytes behind her. She hoped Garrimar knew what he was doing, crossing the eldest child of a World Dragon was a serious matter – even if he didn't see it that way.

It may end up costing them their lives.

"Are you reckless or simply stupid?" Bala asked Warrick as she followed him up with winding stairs of the tower. He paused and turned,

"Regarding what?"

"The Staff of the Shadow Flame." Her eyes flicked to it then back to his face.

His brow creased slightly and he drew it closer to him protectively. The eyes of the dragon on its head pulsed with a purple light suddenly, casting a sick glow across the stairway.

"See?" Warrick laughed, "It already knows its new master." He turned to continue up the stairs.

Bala grabbed his wrist and pulled him back,

"…Or is marking you for death! Nefarian will come for it; he is a Dragon, is he not? Dragons loathe being stolen from – especially when the item in question is one he coverts most!"

"Then let him come!" Warrick thundered, "I will kill him with his own prized possession." He pulled his wrist, but Bala refused to let go. She stared into his eyes, barely recognizing the man standing before her.

"You are going to get yourself killed, D'ni." She whispered softly. Warrick blinked and the light from the staff faded.

"You have not called me that in a long time."

"It may be the last time." She muttered, brushing past him towards the landing ahead. He made no move to follow her, remaining on the stair and struggling with the purple haze that had settled upon him. He looked up at the head of the dragon on the staff. It grinned wickedly back; promising death.

Shaking his head free of the dark thoughts, he closed his hand over the Soul Shards in his robe. In a short while, he would no longer have to worry about death. He looked up at the landing above, where four of Garrimar's Acolytes were attacking the spelled door of the Shadow Priest and smiled.

All he needed was one more soul.


	3. Fear

"Try all you might, you Horde bastards!" The Priest laughed from behind the spelled door, "Nothing it getting through this- grrk!" He stumbled backwards as an arm and dagger closed around him neck. Bala whispered in his ear,

"Never mind the door. I took the window… now take the spells off this door and you _may_ live to see the dawn."

The Priest was still. Bala increased her pressure on the dagger, letting a small trickle of blood drip from his skin onto the brilliant royal blue of his robes. He gritted his teeth,

"How do I know you won't kill me anyway?"

"I give you my word."

After a long moment, the Priest waved his hand over the handle of the door and it burst open; Garrimar's Acolytes pouring through in a wave of rotting bodies. They circled the Night Elf Priest, staffs and wands at the ready.

Garrimar hobbled through the door, staff making loud 'clack's on the stone floor. He eyed the Night Elf up and down.

"Where is it?" He rasped.

"Where is what?"

"The Sethekk oracle cloak."

"I don't have it."

"I don't believe you." The Undead turned to look around the room then finally nodded at his Acolytes. "Kill him."

"No." Bala still had an arm around his neck, "I gave him my word he wouldn't be killed."

"And the fool I am, I believed you." The Priest muttered. Garrimar sighed,

"As noble as your intentions are, my dear, prisoners are not what we want right now."

"Then I'll just _leave_!" The Priest suddenly cast Fear. Terror shot into the hearts of everyone in the room, Acolytes ran left and right – one killing another in desperate terror with his wand. Darkness and mist crept into their minds – rendering them helpless to stop the Priest from escaping.

Bala closed her eyes and froze, dropping the dagger. A terrifying vision playing in her mind; the Priest recovering the dagger – and plunging it into a helpless Warrick. She felt a hand grab her arm and jumped, her heart galloping around her chest in terror. The hand pulled her closer and she sank to the ground, grasping the person tightly for dear life. She breathed in deeply, the familiar scent of Leatherworking Oil and Peacebloom drifted to her from the robe.

It was Warrick. He was alive.

The scent brought her to her senses and her eyes snapped open, finding herself wrapped around the Warlock, her head on his shoulder. Blinking his black curls from her eyes, she drew back; the motion making him open his eyes as well. They locked gazes for a moment then spoke in unison,

"The Priest."

Leaping to their feet, they caught the flash of a blue robe disappearing through a trapdoor in the ceiling. Bala bounded up the steps as Warrick sent a Shadow Bolt sizzling past her. It hit the stone of the rooftop, but missed the Priest. Garrimar hobbled up the steps and yelled at his Acolytes,

"You're Undead Warriors! You feel no fear you fools!"

They opened their eyes at his words, looked at each other and scrabbled for weapons. The one who had killed his comrade looked up at Garrimar, who ushered him along.

"Casualty of war, lad." He growled.

Bala was the first to reach the rooftop – so the first to be struck from behind. Her vision blackened and she was flung sideways where she rolled to a stop on the stone. Warrick was next to reach the trapdoor; seeing Bala hit from behind he ducked just in time to avoid being missed by the wooden staff the Priest was wielding.

He sent another Shadow Bolt towards him, but the Elf cast a shield; absorbing it harmlessly. Warrick swept the Staff of the Shadow Flame around his head and knocked the Elf's feet out from under him; his shield preventing the Warlock from doing any magic. From the ground the Priest started to glow gold, Warrick looked up and cursed.

"Damn!" He leapt from the trapdoor landing, just in time to avoid a casting of Holy Fire which struck an Acolyte and most of another. They screamed in agony, one falling backwards in a flurry of flames and the other blackened to a crisp.

Drawing himself to his feet, the Elf cast Shadow Word: Pain. Warrick doubled over, his bones thrumming and aching every time he moved. With a snarl he reached out and pulled on the Elf's soul viciously.

The Elf stepped back – shocked at the tug he felt inside him. Warrick smiled maniacally twisted his hand, clenching his fist as he felt the soul catch… then he pulled. The Night Elf screamed and fell to the rooftop, thrashing in agony. Warrick's eyes rolled back into his head, releasing a sigh at the green thread between them pulsed and throbbed.

_**Just one more soul… **_His mind sighed, and he agreed. Life coursed through his veins and drifted to his free palm, where he felt a Shard begin to form.

From the trapdoor he vaguely heard Garrimar shout something and the Acolytes leapt onto the roof – though not to attack the Priest. Something else was approaching… something very big, and very angry.

"_Warrick_!" Bala slapped him across the face, breaking his concentration. The line between the Priest and him severed and snapped violently. The Elf stopped thrashing and lay on the ground gasping and groaning. Purple lights exploded in the Warlock's vision and he rounded on Bala, temper flaring.

"Why-" He stopped short when he saw a huge shadow tower over them. Almost the size of the tower itself, a huge brown and amber dragon landed heavily on the rooftop; the stones cracking and sagging under its weight.

With a roar it lashed out and grabbed an Acolyte in its jaws, snapping him in two and swallowing him whole. Giant horns that erupted from either side of his jaw smashed into three more Acolytes who dared to fire at him as he swept his head towards them. They disappeared over the edge of the tower with muted cries then disappeared in the darkness.

The dragon caught sight of Warrick with the staff and snarled,

"_You!_" He roared into the night, taking a deep breath and sending a blazing river of fire through the air towards the Warlock.

Warrick planted the staff on the ground, parting the flames around him. They thundered past and into the night sky where they faded harmlessly.

"Return my staff," The dragon growled, "And I will grant you a quick and painless death!"

Garrimar summoned a Shadow Bolt and sent it thundering into the dragon's side. The dragon stumbled, making the tower shake and blinked, recognition sparking in his maddened yellowed eyes.

"The thief…" He roared again in pain as another Shadow Bolt crashed into his chest and took flight. Warrick let the bolt's light die in his hands and moved to Garrimar's side.

"Then you did steal it?"

"Details, lad." The Undead grinned.

"Sometimes I wonder whether you're a Warlock or a Rogue."

"Can't I be both?" The corpse laughed.

Lightning cracked and lit up the sky, revealing the dragon circling the tower like a vulture. A rumble of thunder followed it, bring the threat of rain.

"Nefarian!"

The dragon's head turned towards the Warlock when he heard his name.

"You want your stick?" Warrick spun the staff around him, "Come and get it!"


	4. A Costly Prize

"You want your stick?" Warrick spun the staff around him, "Come and get it!"

The dragon circled around and dove at him. Summoning a Shadow Bolt with his left hand, he felt his palm tingle with the power – amplified by the staff. He grinned and sent it barreling towards the Dragon Lord.

It hit him on the right shoulder, singeing a good portion of it, but failed to stop the dragon's deadly dive. Warrick grasped the staff with his hand and dove to the right, barely missing Nefarian's massive claws as he landed on the tower.

_**I need that last Soul Shard!**_

Looking around the rooftop, Warrick failed to see the Priest anywhere. Probably fallen to his death from Nefarian's tail… The Warlock eyed the dragon's tail warily. It was the same as on the base of his staff – though much more deadly.

Desperately looking around for a living enemy, his eyes settled on an injured Acolyte. A dangerous thought played in his mind.

_I couldn't…_

_**You could.**_

Reaching out, he felt for the tenuous strand of life in the Undead and pulled, the heavens opening as he did, drenching the rooftop in a torrent of rain. The Acolyte started screaming.

Taking her eyes off the dragon for a moment Bala caught sight of a green flash from the corner of her eye. A scarlet-robed figure was siphoning the soul of an Acolyte through the rain. Garrimar?

She'd suspected the cheerful old corpse could be treacherous, but kill one of his own? Blinking rain from her eyes she realised with a jolt that the figure was Warrick. The twisted smile on his face was sickening as the Undead soldier twisted and thrashed on the ground like a worm.

He mustn't be able to see.

Bala, dodging a ball of fire from the Dragon Lord by a leapt and roll to the right, bounded across the rooftop towards him.

"Warrick! That's an Acolyte!"

"I know." He said in a low voice. He looked at her, his eyes shimmering a purple hue; this wasn't him.

"Stop. Now."

The Warlock paid no attention to her. The dragon landed once more on the rooftop; causing it to sag even more and snarled.

"Are you ready to die, insects?"

Garrimar sent a flurry of lightning towards it, the bolts barely bouncing off his scales. Warrick turned back to the Acolyte, twisting his hand deeper.

_**I must have that Stone!!!**_

As the giant dragon raised his tale high into the air, Bala did the first thing that came to mind; turning his head she kissed the Warlock.

The tie instantly severed from the Acolyte and he stepped back. Nefarian's tail came down like a club, skewering the Acolyte with its spines and sending him flying through the air.

Now it was only Garrimar, Warrick and Bala against the Lord of Blackrock… and the odds weren't in their favour.

How long had it been since she had kissed him? Warrick's thoughts were scattered to the monsoonal winds as her tongue rediscovered his mouth. He remembered their first kiss – the night they had met – the ritual… the spell.

"Warrick! Bala!"

Garrimar's voice cut through the howling of the storm as he continued to shoot Shadow Bolts at the dragon's thick hide. Opening her eyes, Bala saw Nefarian's tail reflected in the lightning. She pushed Warrick towards the trapdoor and leapt.

Looking up slowly, Warrick realised dimly that Bala had cast a spell on him. He struggled to get up, the world moving too fast for him to keep up.

Whistling through the air, the dragons tail snapped back through the rain and hit Bala squarely in the chest, winding her. She rolled across the rooftop limply and landed on her back next to Warrick.

"You bitch. You spelled me." He slurred.

"How else could I stop you from siphoning the soul of that Undead?" She grinned and wheezed back.

Without warning; Nefarian's tail dropped from the storm clouds, slamming into the rooftop – and something else – with a sick thud. Garrimar rolled under the dragon and struck at it with his staff, the blows weakening the leg and the dragon reared – taking flight again.

The Undead Warlock spun,

"Bala! Oh dear…"

Vision still blurry from the spell Bala had cast on him, Warrick blinked hard and crawled to her. She coughed,

"Cheeky… bastard."

Warrick looked down, his mind beginning to clear as he noticed the puddle he was knelt in. He lifted his hand, seeing that it was blood. He pool on the ground spread rapidly, leaking from the punctures Nefarians tail had left on Bala's chest and shoulders. Warrick felt the tie between them fray. She was pale, her eyelids fluttering.

"Make… the Stone." She whispered.

"With what?"

_Where is that Priest when you need him?_

_**Make the Stone. Use her!**_

"Me…" She trailed off, her form fading.

_**Use her NOW before she dies!**_

"Bala!" Reaching out a hand, Warrick felt the stone rooftop. She'd gone.


	5. Shards of Sanity

It's 4:40am. I'm dying. This story is killing me...

* * *

The sounds of the dragon circling the tower mingled with the sounds of the storm. Warrick noticed neither, still kneeling in the pool of dark blood on the roof being diluted more and more by the second by the rain.

"We _must_ leave!" Garrimar put a hand on his shoulder and ran to the trapdoor. Warrick was still thinking, his mind racing.

Summoning a Succubus required a Soul Shard… one that he needed for creating a Soul Stone. Again, though, who could he give it to? Bala was gone.

_**You don't need her**_

Warrick shook his head violently, sending droplets of rain flying across the rooftop that were lost amongst their brothers on the ground.

_Yes I do._ He clenched his fists against the ground and gritted his teeth, feeling like he was tearing apart from the inside. _I will always need her_.

With a cry he pulled the Soul Shards from his robe, sending them flying into the night off the top of the tower. They glowed for a moment and then dimmed as they fell further away from him.

_**No! After all I've done for you! You can't do this to me!**_ The voice in his head screamed. Warrick's head was flooded with pain, like it had been caught between a smithy and his anvil. He dropped to his knees and gasped, clasping his hands to the side of his head.

_You have done more than enough already!_

The voice screamed again and Warrick felt like his head would split open. He threw his head back and screamed, feeling the purple haze buzzing in his mind being forced from his body. It pulled on him desperately; scrabbling for a hold on his bones, his heart, his own soul. Bit by bit it was ripped from him – just like the souls he had ripped so violently from others.

"Warrick!" Garrimar saw his protégé crumple from across the rooftop, distracting him from the dragon. It grinned and lashed out with its tail viciously. The spires on his tail buried themselves into the side of the old Warlock with a dry 'thud' and he was flung against the wall, pinned. Nafarian snorted thunderously and drew closer to the tiny Undead's face.

"Perhaps," He growled, his breath blew Garrimar's dirty hair back from his face, "You will face death with more honor than how you faced me, _thief_!"

Garrimar gurgled and flapped his arms weakly, feeling the force that reanimated him escaping rapidly from his grasp.

Warrick heard the massive dragon's voice and looked up. Seeing Garrimar in the Lord of Blackrock's grasp, he summoned a Shadow Bolt and sent it toward him, striking him on his right leg. It buckled and crumpled from the force, removing his attention from the Undead and transferring it to the Human.

"Oh you will pay for that, insect." He snarled and took flight. The wind from his wings, sent Warrick tumbling towards the edge of the tower. He flung an arm out, catching the edge of a stone 'barrier' and clung on for his life.

Garrimar was not so lucky however, his light corpse tumbled end for end, hitting Warrick so hard he almost lost his grip on the tower.

"Hold on friend." Warrick tested his strength on one arm and attempted to wrap his other arm around him. Garrimar shook his head as he began to slip backwards towards the dark edge.

"Forgive me," He looked at Warrick with haunted Undead eyes, "I have brought death upon us all." Without warning, he pushed Warrick away and rolled over the edge of the tower.

"Garrimar!" Warrick watched his frail form fall through the night; the look on the corpse's face was peaceful.

The wind that had claimed his teacher's life worked to his advantage, sending the last of the Curse that had inhabited him tumbling end over end, still screaming vows of revenge as it disappeared into the night. This wouldn't be he last he saw of the Curse… but he didn't know that. For the first time in a decade, Warrick felt alone – even more now that Garrimar and Bala were gone.

_Bala!_

The dragon roared and dove towards him. The roar warned Warrick of his approach and he pulled himself to his feet, burying his hand deep into his pocket and clutching the first thing it touched.

The last Soul Shard.

He dove, rolling from Nefarian's taloned feet as he landed on the tower; the impact making the stones shatter and the tower shudder. He gasped in pain as he felt his shoulder wrench itself free from its socket when he landed.

Ignoring the burning, he pulled the Soul Shard free of the cloth of his robe and closed his eyes, gripping it tightly.

Nefarian saw the Warlock freeze on the rooftop and laughed, the trumpeting sound echoing upwards and mingling with a clash of thunder.

"Be afraid, Human." He sneered, "Be very afraid."

Warrick didn't hear him, intent on his spell – he muttered under his breath, feeling a familiar soul coming closer from the Nether. As the Dragon Lord rose on his hind legs to crush him into the floor, there was a blinding flash of purple light that sent him stumbling backwards. He tumbled from the rooftop with a trumpeting call of fury and fell into the darkness, landing on the ground with an earth shattering crunch.

Collapsing backwards against the stone barrier of the rooftop, Warrick saw the Soul Shard crumble into a dust that glittered and shimmered. It was swept from his palm, snaking through the rain of its own accord then began to spin in a whirlwind of purple light.


	6. Unlikely Allies

Dying... I can't type properly.

* * *

As the light grew brighter, something rose from the floor; booted feet, legs and long arms. As quick as it had begun, the dust from the Soul Shard fell to the ground where it was lost forever. 

Warrick felt a huge wrench on his energy as a good quarter of his already perilously low mana was sacrificed. He felt the world swim and he closed his eyes for a moment, fighting the feeling of vertigo.

When he opened them he found himself looking into pair of deep gold eyes. Bala shook her head, smoothing her hair back from her horns and drew a deep breath.

"In answer to my own question; you are both reckless _and_ stupid." She sighed. He smiled,

"Am I?"

"You needed that Soul Shard."

"…I needed you more."

Bala closed her eyes and praised the Gods, drawing him close to her. _This_ was the Warrick she knew.

A furious roar rent the air, loud enough to split the storm clouds from each other. Both Warlock and Succubus jumped.

"What was that?" Bala asked.

"Nefarian."

"You didn't kill Nefarian!?"

"I was preoccupied!" He snapped. Bala helped him stumble to his feet and cast a spell of Lesser Invisibility. Warrick leant on her heavily, exhausted. Another roar echoed through the air and the sound of beating wings started approaching from the depths of the tower.

Bala led him to the trapdoor in the roof and pulled the ring. It wouldn't move.

"The Priest." Warrick realised.

"The Elvish bastard locked himself inside." Bala cursed.

"…Or us out."

The dragon rose from the side of the tower, spitting a puddle of blood onto the rooftop and snorting. His left horn was hanging from a perilous angle and he had several teeth missing.

"Are you prepared to die, insect?" He growled, hovering in mid-air. He did not see Bala, who let go of Warrick and started creeping towards him, flames dancing between her fingers. Warrick prayed that her spell of Lesser Invisibility held against an enemy so strong.

Nefarian rose into the air and landed on the rooftop heavily, striking out with his barbed tail at Warrick. With a superhuman effort, the Warlock leapt clear of the swing and Nefarians tail smashed down on the trapdoor; splintering it.

"Well thankyou." Warrick muttered and crawled towards it. Nefarion sneered and closed a claw around him, pulling him off the ground like a rag doll,

"What's the hurry? Argh!"

Bala struck out with a long black whip she summoned, catching the dragon across one sickly yellow eye. He dropped Warrick with a cry and he hit the ground with a crunch.

"Get into the tower! I'll distract him!" Bala twirled the whip around her head and brought it down again across the dragons scaled back. He reared and stamped the ground, swiping his tail at her, but she leapt into the air and her wings burst from her back long enough for her to miss the swipe that could have killed her - again.

The Warlock gasped and clutched his dislocated shoulder, pain ricocheting from it down his side and fingers. He started crawling once more towards the hole in the roof whilst Bala taunted the Dragon Lord.

"You call this a fight? I might as well go find Onyxia!" She sneered. Nefarian snarled at the mention of his younger sister and swiped a claw at her, like a cat would at a toy. She rolled to the side, looking up from the floor at Warrick, drawing closer to the hole in the roof.

Warrick pulled himself to the edge and jumped through, feet first. He fell for a few moments then found the stairs - his ankles jarring from the impact - and he crumpled, rolling from the edge of the stairs and landing on the thick carpet.

Shaking dust from his eyes and rolling onto his back, a familiar staff tapped his chest.

"Oh my," The Shadow Priest laughed, "How the tables have turned."

* * *

Nefarian felt Bala's whip coil around his left claw and pulled savagely, tearing it from her grasp. 

"Damn." She cursed and ran for the hole in the roof. Nefarian took a deep breath, his stomach churning and boiling with heat. He released a thunderous burst of fire that shot across the rooftop, barely missing Bala as she leapt down the hole to the room below.

The fireball hit the top of the tower with a blast that rocked the tower, blowing melted chunks of stone off the tower down onto the countryside below. The rooftop steamed and fizzled in the wet rain, but the dragon could see no sign of the Succubus.

"Come back and fight with honor, insect!" He roared, flaring fire into the sky.

Bala opened her wings as she landed on the stair, stepping lightly down. She heard a laugh and looked up quickly, seeing the Shadow Priest with the Staff of the Shadow Flame.

"No!" She used a foot to push from the wall and leapt at Priest. He looked up just in time to see her hit him like a stone wall. They flew backwards and the sickly green shot of magic that burst from the end of the staff hit the wall harmlessly.

Landing on the floor in a tangled heap, Bala and the Priest got to their feet and grappled for the staff. The Succubus smiled suddenly, drawing closer and kissing him passionately. The stunned Elf dropped the staff and stepped backwards forgetting about the staff completely.

Warrick grinned, noting the same stunned looked that most people wore when Bala used Soothing Kiss on them. He suddenly realised that he must have looked similar when she'd kissed him to save the Acolyte. When Bala stepped back, releasing her hold on the Night Elf, he fell to his knees; confused.

"What am I doing?" He asked. Bala spun the staff in her hand and gave Warrick a triumphant grin. It was barely 10 seconds until the shocked Elf came to his senses and leapt to his feet when he saw the staff in Bala's hands.

Hearing him rise, she spun and lowered it at him. He narrowed his eyes,

"You don't know how to use that."

"Oh don't I?" She sneered and pointed the staff at a chair behind him. The chair exploded without warning, sending splinters through the air. The Priest clenched his jaw but sat back down. Turning back to the injured Warlock behind her, Bala mouthed,

"Good shot."

Warrick nodded, the lingering light of a Shadow Bolt dying from his fingers.

"Okay," Bala said smoothly, "Now heal him."

The Shadow Priest darkened,

"Do I look like a healer?"

"You're a Priest."

"I'm a Shadow Priest, not a heal-bot."

"You could be a Murlock Priest for all I care." Bala spat, "You will heal him, _now_."

The Elf crossed him arms,

"And if I refuse?"

Bala drew closer to him, pulling him up by the neck of his robe.

"Let me put it into ways you can understand;" She growled, "If he dies then you die. Simple."

* * *

Okay I take it back. Bedtime now. Finish tomorrow. Almost done. 3 chapters left.

I might remind people that because I'm speed-writing this, it counts as still being in editing stages. Suggestions are VERY appreciated.

XxABxX


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